


Common People

by creepymura



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Character Study, First Time, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Pre-Gorillaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just smiled and held my hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second person, from 2D's pov. mentions of cheating and a bit of casual racism

Normally you didn't have a very good memory.

You forgot about meetings and classes and parties and get togethers with old friends constantly. You forgot faces and names and forgot birthdays of those lost faces and names more times than you could count. You forgot to call back, you forgot to message back. You forgot lyrics and chords, you had to write down full songs on your hands just to remember them properly.

But you always remember that day. Every single last detail.

_ The first time. _

* * *

 It was 5th April 1998. It was just starting to get warmer.

You'd been out of your coma for about six months and you were getting used to your new...image, for lack of a better word. It was less spooky now. Didn’t rely so heavily on painkillers to get you through the day, though admittedly you still took more than doctors said you should.

You’d spent the morning travelling from Crawley after your dad had driven you to the train station. Your mum had left a packed lunch with a new prescription out on the counter for you. Ham sandwich with the crusts off, a pack of Quavers and a banana, plus a little note with your new prescription. You stuffed it into your bag without a second thought.

You’d thrown the sandwich away, because even though she knew you were a vegetarian, she never thought to remember. She said it was just a phase you were going through, like when you went to protests or signed petitions on bus stops or gave the homeless guy on the corner any spare coins.

You ate the crisps on the platform, in between frantic huffs from cigarettes, forgot about the banana in your bag and you’d find it the next day, with a bruise that’d be too big to eat around.

You rode your train into the city to get off at Blackfriars Station and then the tube to South Kensington, trying to avoid the looks from the other travellers making their daily commute. Stuck your face in a newspaper to try and get the attention off of you. People weren’t quite used to you yet.

You got off the train and you were in London. Finally.

Russel met you at the station with a smile and a veggie bake from Greggs that you ate while he walked you back to the hostel, as he complained about spending the day with Paula and Murdoc bickering constantly, which made you laugh. You liked Russel a lot. He’d had a rough life, from what he had told you, but he was kind and gentle and never made fun of you the way the others did. Plus he had a sporadic sleeping pattern, like you, and was always up for shooting the shit over late night takeaway meals. And he was an incredible hugger.

The hostel was battered and cheap, loud from foreign backpackers on gap years, too enthusiastic about being away from home for the first time and the price of shit alcohol, getting smashed in their rooms. But it fit your group nicely.

Your band (his band) had been booked for its first gig. Somewhere called the Tin Hat, along those lines anyway. Near Soho so not too far to travel.

They had a case of drinks open when you got in, so naturally you joined in. You all drank too much to celebrate, as you talked about your futures and your pasts, your hopes and your dreams, and who, out of the group, you'd most like to fuck. Murdoc answered all too enthusiastically about that one. You had trashed the hostel room before you left, which would be a pain to explain to the owners once you were all gone, and lead to an extra room charge.

None of you played that well. That was inevitable.

You missed cues and they played bum notes. The drumming was just slightly off so none of you could follow each other properly. Murdoc swore loudly and made lewd gestures at the crowd. Paula had gotten pissed off because some drunk at the back at the bar has told her to get her tits out. She chucked a bottle in their direction which shattered near their feet and the manager had kicked you all out. You didn’t get paid.

The show was a trainwreck. That was also inevitable.

You smoked heavily. Paula pulled her fleece tighter, complained she was cold and that she wanted to go home but Murdoc insisted you stay out, naturally. Said the night was young or some shit, and he, as the oldest member of the group, was obligated to show you what Soho had to offer. He ended up arguing with Paula about it for a good five minutes, which was often the case with those two. You didn’t care either way. Russel was missing a soap opera that he liked.

They called for a taxi. You decided to stay with Murdoc. Just to make sure he didn't pass out in a gutter or something. Russel nodded and gave you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Paula didn't say much. She never usually did.

You kissed her cheek when the taxi came. She smiled, half heartedly, complained that you smelled like smoke and called you a twat for staying out. You agreed with her and she raised her eyebrows at the two of you, her own way of wishing you luck. She’d be asleep when you got back to the hostel. You weren’t worth waiting up for.

They left.

You sat down on the curb, lighting up another cigarette as Murdoc pissed up the back door of the Tin Hat, mumbling to himself about getting back at the tossers for cutting your gig short. He shook himself off and sat down next to you, swigging at the drink he nicked off one of the bar patrons.

"She's cheating on you." He said, matter of factly.

"Yeah." You said, flicking away ash from your cigarette. And that’s all you had to say.

You sat in silence then, listening to the dull, drumming beat of generic English garage music from the closed doors of the bar. You thought your music was better. You felt old and jaded.

You got through the rest of your pack before Murdoc finished his stolen drink and got up from the ground, brushing the dust of the street off his jeans. Said he wanted a beer. And you needed more cigarettes anyway.

You went into an all night ASDA, it was already busy with tipsy students, topping up on extra value vodka and stale sandwiches from the reduced section, making an effort to sober up for the rest of the night.

The lady at the till asked you for your ID when you asked for the fags, made you feel too young. She squinted at the picture on your driver's licence and then back at you, obviously convinced that you’re using a fake, but you’re not too shocked, you had changed a awful lot since it was taken. She eventually gave up the cigarettes to get you out of the shop though. At least that was the energy you got from her. But you never were much good at reading people.

Didn't question Murdoc's purchase.

He left with a four pack of the cheapest, strongest stuff he could find. You left with a twenty pack of equally cheap cigarettes. When you lit one, it tasted like cancer and you could feel the black smoke weigh heavy on your tongue. You almost regretted not shelling out for a decent pack, but it was too late now. You’d carry on like that for the rest of the night. Drinking bad beer and smoking bad cigarettes. It would have been poetic if it wasn’t so fucking depressing.

Murdoc had a can open the second you stepped out of the shop, drinking like the alcohol was his life source. You both walked down the middle of the empty street, no cars this time of night. He wiped away froth from his lip, saying something about taking you to another bar, somewhere that played "proper music" as he put it. You were reluctant to go where he wanted to take you, but you agreed anyway. Because there was fuck else to do, and because you always did with him.

He took you deeper into Soho, past all night sex shops and gay clubs full of bustling patrons and towards a bar called Maggie's. He greeted the bouncer like a friend, claiming to know a bloke called Keith or Owen or something behind the bar. You didn't pay much attention to what he was saying, more interested in the various crowds of people outside each of the clubs.

It fell into the same categories, no matter where you went.

Girls crowded around each other, simpering words of support because one of them had vomited on her shoes and they must have been very expensive and bought just for that night if she was that upset about it. A hen do or an office girls night out, something like that.

The lads were the loudest group, either singing some shitty football chant together or trying to fight each other. Sometimes both at the same time.

The older blokes, sipping from dark pint glasses, stared over thick rimmed specs, looked annoyed at the youth, annoyed by the noise, maybe annoyed that they couldn’t live that way anymore.

The group of students on their first night out was always a good laugh too, drinking far too much with their new found riches and freedom, crowded together while one of them took a picture with a disposable camera, which would get lost along the way and no-one would remember it even existing. You lamented those lost experiences to this day. Wondered if life would be different if you’d had them. But you had barely lasted sixth form. Uni would have chewed you up and spat you out in less than a week.

It was better this way.

A man, in his later thirties with greying hair and round sunglasses, smiled at you and shouted something flirty in your direction. You didn’t take offence to it but Murdoc sneered in his direction and grabbed your arm, pulling you closer towards him, calling the bloke a twat and telling him to fuck off. The man scoffed, and called you “an ugly fuck” anyway and to “have fun with your paki boyfriend”. Murdoc held on tighter and flipped the guy off. It made your stomach feel weird.

The bouncer let you both in eventually, without a word on the alcohol Murdoc was smuggling in. The Human League was playing at full blast when you pushed past the crowd and there's a girl with green dyed hair and skimpy vinyl clothes DJ-ing under purple and blue lights. The dance floor was heaving with bodies and the bar looked busy.

Murdoc clearly had good taste.

He gave you the two other cans to hold onto while he disappeared into the crowd, to the bar you had assumed. The club was sensory overload to you, the music too loud, the lights too bright and constantly flashing, the crowds too heavy which made the air stuffy and hard to breath. At least you like the music. You were able to tune out a bit, focus on the heavy bass from the speakers, recite the lyrics in your head to distract yourself. That was a plus. Your fingers tapped against the cans, your other hand stuffed in your pocket to prevent any more tics. Didn’t need any more unnecessary attention.

A group of girls, students, who all look barely eighteen, pushed past you, almost knocking you off your feet. One of them, a tiny Indian girl, with silver piercings and long, straight hair, apologised through drunken giggles. You smiled at them, nodded and said not to worry about it, hoping they’d move on. But another girl in the group, this one with a red mohawk and a safety pin through her nose gapes at you, alerting the rest of her friends.

“What the fuck’s up with your eyes, mate?” She asked, her red painted mouth open, showing off crooked and chipped teeth. Your smile wavered a little, and you’d rather have just walked away than had to explain the whole thing, but you didn’t have to.

“Oi, why don’t you fuck off and leave him alone, ya little tart.” Murdoc was between you and the group of girls then, spitting out words like venom, and obviously they would have rather just get away from the conflict than pry any further. So they left you to it, and you’re left with a gnawing guilt in your stomach. Murdoc doesn’t seem all that bothered though.

“You didn’t have to call her a tart.” You said when they’re out of earshot, but he just laughed, taking one of the cans from you. “Really, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. She was jus’ curious.”

“Ugh, you’re too fuckin’ nice, ‘Dents. You really have learn that you don’t owe anything to anyone. Especially not to nosy little fuckers like these kids.” He continued to drink, and you knew he was right, because he knew you far too well, and knew how much you hated being pointed at and answering questions like that. Maybe you were too nice. Maybe you were just used to people singling you out from your group and having to explain yourself.

You nodded anyway, because it was easier to agree with him than argue, and he gave you the last can. You cracked it open, and drained half of it, swallowing down with a shudder and grimace. He grinned and clapped a hand down on you shoulder, letting out a bark like laugh.

“There we go! Bet it feels better havin’ a drink in you, eh?” You smiled weakly, trying to hold it back. You didn’t like beer at the best of times, especially not cheap, ASDA’s own “Premium Lager” that barely cost more than a bus ticket. But you drank it up anyway because you wanted the buzz, and admittedly, the club already felt nicer with the alcohol fueled filter and without the dull numbing pain in your head.

You finished your drinks together, and Madonna is playing. You left your cans on a table full of forgotten drinks and Murdoc went back to the bar, where he got served immediately, and there was a new drink in your hand even though you hadn’t asked for it. Murdoc must have caught you staring at it because he rolled his eyes, and elbowed you in the side to alert you.

“It’s a rum and cola, dickhead. Drink up, tonight’s on me.” He drank from his own glass and you did the same. It tasted better than you thought it would, and you nodded appreciatively, happy to get the taste of the cheap beer before off your tongue.  “Least I can do really. Gettin’ you up here just for us to get kicked out halfway through our first song.” He clicked his tongue, taking another swig. “What a shit show.”

“I don’t mind that much.” You said, swirling the drink in it’s glass. “It’s nice just being here. And I wouldn’t have been doing anything else. It feels worth it now.” Then he was quiet.

Your mind wandered then, as it was prone of doing, the music suddenly dull and low. You couldn’t remember what was playing, anything else in the room serving as white noise in your head. You just remembered feeling like you were the only two people in the room, no, the entire city of London. Nothing else mattered.

Your hands were sweaty and there’s a clench in your chest that you didn’t understand at the time, but looking back on it, it was all too clear what that feeling was.

He looked at you, and when he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back. He said something but you didn’t quite understand what it was. You saw his lips move, but nothing was said. Your heart felt like it was going to burst and your head was dizzy. You wondered if it was the drink or the atmosphere, maybe it was a mix of the two. Regardless of what it was, you spilt some of your drink and you felt yourself stumble, almost tripping over your own feet. But he caught you. Like he always did.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, you done already?” You thought he sounded worried, but the huge smile on his face obviously meant otherwise. It must have been pretty funny though, so you didn’t blame him for smiling.

You shook your head, trying to steady yourself. “Nah, nah, just dizzy as fuck…” You mumbled, trying to keep a grip on your drink, making sure you didn’t spill it again. But it was hard when your hands were shaking so much.

He draped one of your arms around his shoulders, standing up straight to support you, holding onto your hand, his other arm around your waist.

“C’mon, let’s go outside. You need some air and I need a fag anyway.”

You made it through the bustle of the nightclub crowd, him not being averse to shoving people out of the way to get to the exit, into the smoking area outside.

It had been arranged into a tasteful garden of sorts, it being walled in between the other buildings of the street, the bricks covered in ivy, and the occasional scribble of graffiti, and the older, more sophisticated patrons of the club were sat in the seats and battered leather sofas, chatting and smoking with friends, glasses clinking.

The atmosphere was warm and safe. It reminded you of a home that wasn’t your own, of a place you had never visited. You liked the unfamiliarity of it all.

The Smiths was playing when you found a seat outside, settling on some decking steps next to the doors after you learnt that all the sofas and seats were full of strangers having their own conversations. It was one of their songs from their earlier years, when they were actually good and Morrissey wasn't incredibly political. You took your cigarettes out and offered one to him, which he took, and you lit both of them on a single flame.

You recognise the song over the inaudible conversations, and quietly mumble the lyrics to yourself between drags, though Murdoc picks up and hums along with you.

“Fuuuck, imagine working with Morrissey.” He drawled, sipping from his drink. “Probably blow your brains out before you start recording these days though. Surprised Johnny put up with it for so long actually.”

“I’d work with him.” You said. “Mostly so I could just deck him, mind. Charming man or not, the bloke’s a dickhead.”

He laughed out loud suddenly, and though it threw you off, you laughed too and then you were laughing together, his arm draped over your shoulder, you hunched over and it just felt so right.

Normal almost.

The way two friends were meant to interact.

You laughed until your sides hurt and he’s wheezing out little giggles and the clenching in your chest was back, and it felt worse. But not worse. Just harder. More pressure. But you couldn’t stop smiling regardless of that pain.

Seeing him smile like that was so rare.

He giggled some more before calming down, letting out a long, satisfied sigh and looking up to the sky. Over the brick walls of the beer garden, you could see the London skyline, offices and flat blocks climbing high with bright lights shining into an empty, inky night. It made up for the lack of stars. The distant bustle of cars and sirens of all sorts in the outside streets filled up any gaps of conversation in the garden, making the atmosphere sound so much more crowded than it was already. But he didn’t seem to mind. An almost gentle smile played at his lips and he took a long drag from his cigarette. Even now, you can’t remember a time he looked more peaceful.

"I'll tell ya, 2D, this is my city right here.” His words came out in an exhale of heavy smoke. “Ever seen something so beautiful in your life?"

"Once or twice, yeah." You said, already smoking like it’s going out of fashion. "But not about a place like this. Looks a bit grim to me." He made a face at you and shook his head.

"No no, mate, this place is like a paradise. It's so lovely and tall. Really tall. I like tall things." He leant against you then, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Plus, place as big as this, you’re anonymous, right? Must be nice to walk down a street and know that no-one there give a shit about ya."

"I think that's a bit sad." You let your head droop, leaning against him in turn. "Why'd you wanna feel like that, eh?"

He let out a little chuckle, making the clenching tighter. "Just a comforting thought, alright? Don’t need to get all philosophical on me.”

“Yeah, well, I give a shit about you. Even when we’re in such a tall place like this. I always will.”

“Don’t say always, mate. I hate that.”

And then you’re both quiet again, leaning on each other, smoking and drinking in undisturbed peace.

It hadn’t taken long, back in those early days, to realise that Murdoc liked to keep to himself, at least when he was around you. You’d known each other for a while, spent so much time together, yet it felt like you barely knew anything about him.

That’s not to say you didn’t know anything about the man though.

You knew he was older than you, older than you had expected when he told you. You knew he had a doctorate in social studies, but couldn't be bothered to change his honorifics on his forms, yet he still complained that he wasn’t referred to as a doctor more often. You knew he liked sausage rolls and pasties from cheap bakeries when he was hungover (which was most of the time), and he always managed to remember to get you something vegetarian when he brought back food during practices. You knew he had a family, that he hated and barely talked about, and that he stole his first bass, that he loved and doted on constantly, and still kept on the wall of his winnebago. You knew he lived in London before, when he went to university, but he never said more than that.

You knew so many things about him, and yet, it felt like you knew nothing.

You wondered if he felt that way about you.

"Murdoc." You started, staring down at the decking.

"Mm?"

"Why do you hate 'always' then?"

He shrugged his shoulders, taking a heavy drag from his cigarette and setting his empty glass down on the decking between you. Normally, you were too polite to pry into other people's business, but for some reason, today you felt a bit luckier.

"Tell me." You insisted, and he sighed, sitting up straight.

"It's just...when people say always, they never ever mean always, yeah?" You shook your head and he looked frustrated but went on. "People leave. It happens constantly. I'd rather they just be honest with me and stop acting like this time it'll be any different." He frowned, putting his cigarette out in the glass, turning to you to look you in the eyes (or lack thereof). "You won't ‘ _always_ ’ give a shit about me. You won’t ‘ _always_ ’ care about me. One day, you won't even remember today, you’ll barely remember me. You'll move on, you'll forget. Just like everyone does. So stop lying."

You were speechless for a few seconds. But you quickly found your voice again.

"No. I won't. That's not going to happen to me." You said, sitting up, frowning in a way you hadn’t before. "That's never going to happen, alright. I'm gonna be here, I'm not gonna go away, yeah? I'm _not_ gonna leave you, even if everyone else does. I don’t give up that easy."

Then he kissed you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some british-isms and headcanons explained here.
> 
> \- Greggs is a chain bakery in England. They make cheap pastries and they're decent.  
> \- ASDA is a chain store in England similar to Walmart. 24/7 chain corner shops are very common, especially in big cities like London.  
> \- It's worth noting that 2D is twenty in this fic. Old enough to drink and buy cigarettes (minimum age is eighteen)  
> \- 'Fags' is a slang term for cigarettes. You'll barely here it used as a derogatory term.  
> \- Soho is a section of London that's known for having a good clubbing and sex scene.  
> \- 2D is a year out of sixth form, which is effectively "senior year" for American high school students. It's between high school and university for us. You usually start when you're 16 and finish when you're 18, but you can take a third year for further studies.  
> \- I very, very firmly headcanon that Murdoc is mixed race, Middle Eastern and British, which explains his brown skin in phase 1.  
> \- 2D is autistic. He experiences sensory overload, and stims when he's nervous.
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	2. Trafalgar Square

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in second person, from 2D's perspective. mentions of cheating

**Then he kissed you.**

-

And you have absolutely no idea how to react.

You went into a paniced moment of shock the second he gripped your shirt (maybe because you thought he was going to deck you), and you barely had the chance to say anything else before he pulled you close to him and into the hard kiss. Cutting off whatever it was you were saying, but your train of thought had been wiped completely, funnily enough, so you didn’t have much to say anyway. 

That always seemed to happen with you though.

Of course, you had no warning or real sense that it was going to happen at all (though that might just be because you were bad at reading people and situations and really it was very obvious all along.) So it was natural, expected almost, that you were going to be startled, natural that you froze up against him, like a skinny blue headed deer caught in a car’s headlights, or a closted bisexual kissing a man for the first time in about six years.

Since it had gone so smoothly the last time.

You were surprised that it was happening,but that was the obvious reaction though. Kisses in general were usually unexpected for you, let alone kisses with other men. Rarely ever got any warning when it came to things like that. Not that you would have known what those warnings were, even if they were there. 

Perhaps they were there from the start, and you were just particularly dim today.

But this. 

This was something so new, something so incredibly far from your comfort zone, something that maybe you’d thought about before but never imagined it actually happening. Not something bad, of course not, you liked getting your comfort zone pushed with every day that passed. It was just new, different, sort of strange, that maybe it scared you a little.

But you couldn’t help but have a tiny part of you wonder if maybe Murdoc had been having the exact same feelings towards you in his head all evening as well. Maybe his chest had clenched when he looked at you and his hands had gotten sweaty when you smiled at him. 

Maybe he’d been thinking about this moment from the very second you woke up from your coma, months ago, but never had the guts to bring it up. 

Unlikely, knowing him.

But even if any of that was true, there was no uncertainty to his actions, no light treading or hesitation, a stark contrast to you and your tiptoeing around situations like this. Nothing like how you would have done this. 

He’d obviously done this before, clearly had years of experience compared to you. 

Little things like that just seemed to enforce how different the two of you were. And that was one of the things you really liked about him. How different he was compared to everyone else.

Slowly, the rough grip on your front dropped, his forcefulness melted away as he willed you to make the next step, and you were allowed to move in deeper, make the next step on your own, your silent way of saying that it was okay. Just what he wanted. 

You preferred it that way, it gave you a somewhat sense of power over the whole situation, because you were the one moving it forward, after all, and that made it easier to understand in your still slightly scrambled brain. 

Easier to think about. 

Easier to ignore the age difference and the fact that you had a girlfriend, for all intents and purposes, a fact that hadn’t bothered you before and you barely thought about, but was now ningling in the back of your head as you kissed him deeper.

Weirdly, your absent mind thought about how many shitty teenage poets had wanked to ideas of this image. Kissing in an obscenely public place while Morrissey droned on about dying under public transport in the background in some vaguely homoerotic death pact. 

You could taste cheap beer and cigarette smoke on his tongue, a slight sweet undertone of rum and coke, and the harsh, acidic smell of his cheap aftershave was much more obvious now you were so close, all things which was typically a bad combination for a kiss, but it suited him, suited the situation quite well.

You keened closer for him, and his hands were behind your neck, buried idly in your hair, your arms comfortably around his waist, clinging onto his thin jumper, the wool already itchy against your skin. 

Showing him you wanted this as much as he did.

It wasn’t a proper kiss though. Not yet. It was a way for both of you to vent out the frustrations you had with each other, the ones you’d been holding back for the entire evening. Fuelled by intense longing and maybe too much cheap beer all at once. 

It was too heavy, too much too quickly. Too many people in your general vicinity and not nearly as private or intimate as you usually liked first kisses to go.

But it wasn’t bad, as first kisses went, by any means.

It was almost nice, in that weird sort of way. 

Almost like him.

Some old, BNP-looking bloke walked past you, bumped into your shoulder with his knee deliberatley, and mumbled "Fucking poofs" loud enough for you both to hear it. 

Murdoc quickly pulled away from the kiss, from the closeness that you craved so much, to hurl words of abuse and profanities at him as he walked off. You wished he didn't take the bait so easily, since it was obviously just a throwaway insult to rile you up and ruin the night. 

But he was just like that.

Easy to rile up, quick to counter insults and banter, with much more vulgarity than they had originally been thrown. Though that usually got him in trouble more times than not. Not like he cared though. Never stopped him.

He was rude and abrasive, crude most of, if not all the time. He shouted at people in the streets and barged past busy crowds without apologizing. He swore on public transport, not caring who heard him, never filtered the way he spoke when he was around strangers or business partners. It was almost surprising you’d even gotten that shitty gig after all the stuff he said to the manager over the phone.

But a part of you liked those things about him. 

You always trusted Murdoc to tell you exactly what he thought. Even if sometimes that honesty got him into trouble, it was one of the things you respected about him. If you sounded like shit, he’d tell you immediately, and not try to gently step around the issue like other people tended to do. You appreciated that sometimes, especially around that time when everyone was trying to be soft and supportive of you, when really, all you needed was someone to tell you how freaky you looked, but never make you feel bad because of it. 

And there were so many good things that you liked about him as well.

He was nice to kids, even if they were being brats on trains or buses or something. Bad mouthed their parents, of course, but never said anything about a screaming baby or a toddler who pointed the two of you out. Always gave money to buskers or if someone approached him asking for cash for a hostel or a train, even if times were tight. Enthusiastic about the things he loved, even more when you indluged him, sang some of his lyrics as he accompanied you on his bass. Godly with his intstrument of choice, too.

And it helped that you were  _ ridiculously  _ attracted to him. But that was just a side thought, and something you only ever thought to yourself.

The homophobic twat shuffled on, and the two of you reluctantly stood up from the decking, the intimate moment having been ruined, your drinks empty, and your pack of cigarettes significantly lighter than when you had entered the club.

He let out an exasperated huff, clearly as tired of the busy club and the chilled-yet-crowded beer garden atmosphere as you were, and looked over at you with an eyebrow slightly raised. Sniffing and scratching at his nose irritably, a little gesture he did when he was annoyed or frustrated.

Because of course you would have picked up on that by now.

“Ya wanna get out of here then?” He asked gruffly, and you nodded enthusiastically, thinking there couldn’t have been a better suggestion.

You left your empty glasses on the decking, where some underpaid teenager would come and find it a bit later when the bar was running out of glasses and needed some washed up. The two of you pushed back through the heaving crowds of club goers, mostly students and young adults fresh from internships and work placements, from all walks of life but somehow all the same and blurring into one. At least from your perspective. 

The club looked significantly busier compared to when you entered, and they’d stopped playing the eighties classics that brought in the niche in exchange for some bullshit club bangers to bring in the younger crowds, the crowds more likely to spend the most money. He didn’t need to look back at you to figure out this was probably less than ideal for you, and might have lead to a sensory meltdown if you were stuck in it for too long, so he held onto your hand tightly, dragging you along through the bustling heaps of people without a word. 

You focused on that touch and gripped tighter, just as a means to ground yourself, ignoring the crowds and not worrying about who you bumped into, just trusting that he would get you out of there. 

Trusting he would keep you safe. 

This time at least. He owed you that much.

After a bit more jostling in the crowd, and you narrowly avoiding a couple of students spilling their tray of drinks down your front, you were out of Maggie’s, away from the crowds. The intense neon sign now flashing particularly brightly, filling the dark night and casting both of you in the purple glow. 

He looked so good like that. You still thought about how he looked years later. 

His dark olive skin bathing in the sickly neon, his hair jostled from the crowds and gaining a bit more of it’s natural curl with how late it was in the day, how long it had been since he straightened it that morning, and his usual sharp smile was softer, genuine when he looked at you. He stuck his hands into his jacket and looked up at the starless sky, eyes peacefully shut as he sighed happily, his smile not dropping even a little as he took in the surprisingly clear air of Soho, looking the most at peace he had looked in a long time.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself as you looked at him, and you could feel your heart swelling like it did before. At least you knew it was for a proper reason this time. And least you knew that the feelings that made it happen were at least a bit reciprocated.

“So!” He said finally, looking over at you with a grin, bright eyed and bushy tailed. “What now then, mate? After all, the night is young, and so are we. Got the whole of London to explore tonight, where to first? I know a club that you might like, perhaps. Oh! Maybe the punks in Camden Market are still about, eh?”

“Don’t ya think it’s a bit late to go on any adventures though?” You asked, matching his smile though, as you quickly got out your brick of a mobile phone and checked the orange LED screen. “Like, it’s nearly midnight. Should be getting back to the hostel.”

“Ah, that doesn’t mean anything here, Stu!” Murdoc insisted as he started to walk up the street, against the direction everyone else was going, against the crowd as always. You hurried after him, struggling to keep up with his pace despite the height difference. “Now, I’ve never personally been to New York or nothing, but London’s just the same, ennit? The city that never sleeps.”

“I think that’s just about bars and pubs ‘n’ stuff like that, Murdoc.” You replied, passing by said bars, still with lights on (though then again, this was the gay capital of London. None of them ever slept.)

“I mean, what else d’ya really need though?” He grinned happily. “Give a man a hefty supply of good beer and strong spirits and you’ve got everything for a good night! And everything else after that is just a lovely little bonus.”

“That what I am then? Just a bonus?” You asked, a cheeky, somewhat sarcastic tone to your voice as you raised an eyebrow. 

“Nah, babe, you’re the main fucking event!” He wrapped an arm around you suddenly, bringing you much closer to him, and he planted a friendly kiss on your cheek. “That’s why I booked this place, y’know. Just wanted t’show ya off t’everyone, make everyone see the beauty who’s saving my band.”

You laughed at the absurdity of his statement and he laughed because you laughed. Your arm slung around his waist, making the two of you look even more like a couple than the kissing, and you walked together through the alleys of Soho, giggling with each other about nothing that mattered, walking no-where in particular but needing no other kind of direction than that. 

Somehow just the act of wandering made the night feel even better. 

A couple of vagabonds walking arm in arm together.

While the streets were much quieter than when you had entered London, and you were able to cross roads without looking both ways or tearing your attention from each other, you still bumped into people, cars and rickshaws still honked horns at you when you walked in front of them and lights were still obnoxiously bright. 

London might not have been the city that never sleeps, but it was certainly having trouble with it. But you liked it.

“Seriously though, what do we do now?” Murdoc finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence between you, as you walked along a street near Piccadilly Circus. You’d lost track of where you were exactly (despite how well everything was signposted.) “Cus I don’t wanna go back to the hostel, but I think drinkin’ any more will get me on my back within the hour.” Snickering to himself

“I dunno.” You replied, looking around and trying to make sense of where you might have been. “I mean, like, I don’t even wanna drink anything else or nothin’.”

"Well, we have plenty of options." He said brightly, pulling away from you and striding ahead of you, passing the tube station for Piccadilly Circus. "Depends what you're up for." Sticking his hands back into his pockets. "Could go to a casino, or a club, piss away any money we might have had."

"I don't think so." You replied, shaking your head with a frown. "I played poker once with my cousin and he got my Playstation."

"That would be tragic if I had any idea what you were talking about." Quiet again, trying to consider what other options he could have given you. "Oh! Maybe we could try and catch a show!" He suggested, as you passed a theatre with a brightly lit sign for a well rated musical.

"I don't think they do shows past midnight. Least I wouldn't." You mumbled in response, still looking at the various five star reviews as you walked past the theatre.

"Well, maybe there would be a shit student one in a pub near by. They don't have any standards." He replied. "I would know."

"Don't think there's anything worse than watching a poor student recite monologues in a pub on a Sunday night." You said back, with a smirk. 

"Fair enough, that sounds ghastly." He nodded in agreement. 

You kept walking for a few more minutes, him throwing out suggestions and you disagreeing, you making suggestions of your own and him arguing for something else. All in good fun, naturally, since neither of you wanted to actually do anything other than wander and maybe smoke a bit more, but you liked the banter of the suggestions.

As you walked, he decided to lead you through Leicester Square, assuring you that he had the perfect place he wanted to take you to spend the rest of the evening. And you trusted that he had something in mind, though passing through Central London was never a good idea, even you knew that, not even being native to the city.

And Leicester Square was no exception to the rule. It was busy and bustling with people, which honestly surprised you, despite how much you had been warned by other people. 

It was almost midnight after all, on a Sunday as well. You had expected a few people, maybe, but not nearly this many. 

Crawley would have been near deserted at this point, save a few drunks stumbling down empty roads, the pub’s having kicked out all the regulars and trying to find a take away that might have indulged them for a tenner.

Yet here so many people, and sober people at that, were still sat and being served in heaving restaurants, smoking and drinking outside of pubs and piling out of theatres and particularly cosmopolitan cinemas, a constant hum of conversation filling the heavy crowd of people, of all different creeds. You even spotted a couple of kids holding the hands of their busy, fussing parents or on the shoulders of their fathers, barely keeping their eyes open this late into the night. 

A busker played Oasis near a fountain and a crowd of people on a shabby acoustic guitar, the one song of theirs you actually sort of liked, and you seemed strangely comforted by it all. 

London was a city that never stopped moving, it seemed, and suddenly Murdoc's statement about being so small and borderline anonymous here made perfect sense. No-one looked at you, or did a double take when they saw you. No-one seemed to even notice you walking. You felt almost anonymous, invisible in a world that never seemed to stop looking at you.

It made you feel tiny, and unnoticed, but in the best kind of way. You liked how London made you feel like you could have done anything, and the most you would have received was the attention of perhaps one person. It was interesting, a new sort of feeling.

You liked it, a lot actually.

Lost in your own head, in your own thoughts, you followed Murdoc to wherever he was leading you, somewhat distracted by the sights to see along the way. He affectionately threaded his fingers with yours as he pulled you along the streets, gradually becoming more and more empty as you walked. 

Moving further away from the crowds of people, and gradually becoming the only two people in the city.

He'd taken you to Trafalgar Square, a place that was usually so busy with people and tourists that seeing it empty almost spooked you a little. You imagined that he could sense that, since he squeezed your hand, pulling you down the middle of the square.

“Me and my mates used t’come here all the time when I was in uni.” He said, making light conversation as you walked past the fountains, now eerily still, and closer to Nelson’s Column and the lion statues that guarded it almost protectively. “After we were done drinking, we’d come down here and climb all over the statues.”

“Ain’t that illegal though?” You asked with a smile.

“Precisely why y’do it after it’s dark.” He replied with a sharp toothed grin, letting go of your hand to climb up the stone steps of the column and along the platform where the bronze lion sat.

You shouted words of encouragement up at him as he climbed, until he finally settled on top of the lion, straddling it like he was riding a horse.

“Ey, ‘Dents!” He shouted to get your attention. “Did that display of boyish agility turn ya on at all?”

“Maybe a little.” You shouted back, following his lead and climbing up the steps and along the platform. “But I think y’might be a bit old to be climbing statues in the middle of the night.”

“Actually, being old means you CAN climb statues in the middle of the night, and ya haven’t got anyone t’stop you.” He replied with a told-you-so expression on his face, which you just nodded at, pretending that you were impressed.

Eventually, you both settled down on top of the statue, sitting opposite each other, him resting against the mane of the lion and you near its hind legs. He was giggling away about something as you climbed up the monument together, and you couldn’t help but grin at his suddenly out of character enthusiasm.

Trafalgar Square was empty at this time of night, a stark contract to Leicester Square and the rest of the Central sights. Barely any cars on those normally busy roads, and the chilly April air made the bronze statue between your legs cold, even through your jeans, but you didn’t mind it much. You were too high on a pleasantly tipsy buzz to care and you hadn’t stopped smiling since you’d left Maggie’s. 

Neither had he though.

"Fuckin' hell, I haven't done this in a long time." He said, when he was finally comfortable, leaning back against the statue with a wide smile. “Maybe...ten years, perhaps? Protesting about some shit a eighties politician said in the papers. Good times, mate, good fucking times.”

“That’s a bit weird to think about, ennit?” You asked, fumbling through your jacket to find your cigarette packet. “Like, you were out doing shit like that, and I was shoving a finger in my nose in primary school.”

“It’s weird to think how it’s been ten years and you’re still shoving fingers in your nose.” He said with a rough laugh at your irritated face. Crossed his arms over his chest and looked towards the sky as his laugh dwindled into chuckles, and your irritation quickly subsided.

You could feel a smile pull on your lips as you looked at him, truly at peace in one of the busiest cities in England. You could only imagine what his life must have been like, some ten years ago, what he must have been doing in Trafalgar Square.

Maybe you were a little jealous that he’d had all these experiences that you hadn’t, but you thought that it just meant you had more to learn.

From him, perhaps.

“Give us a fag then.” He said, not looking at you and just holding his hand, almost expecting it from you. You just smirked and did as you were told, giving him the lighter too as soon as you had lit your own. 

He lazily placed the cigarette between his lips, leaning forward and cupping his hands around the end to light it, fighting against the chilly breeze that whipped the flame and made it difficult to get the nicotine fix that both of you craved.

But he got it eventually.

"So. What's your deal then, 'Dents?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette and handing the lighter back over to you, which you quickly pocketed. "You’ve been a bit quiet with me since we left Maggie’s. What's goin' on in that pretty little head, eh?" 

"I just...keep thinkin’ about back in the garden." You started, your voice slow and unsure, flicking away the gathering ash from your own, on it’s way to finishing much more quickly than his. "Ya know, when...ya kissed me."

You could feel his sick delight when he smirked, in an almost satisfied way and leant back, eying you in a way you didn’t quite recognize but didn’t quite hate either. 

"Oh yeah? What about it?" He asked.

"Can I ask why y'did it?" You looked up at him, your brow slightly furrowed and his smile dropped somewhat, reading your expression as a negative reaction to his spontaneity. "Like, I know it's not romantic t'ask why, but. Yeah."

"Seemed like the right time to do it." He mumbled, looking away from you, taking another long drag. "Least that's what I thought. Didn't really like what you were talkin' about so. I suppose it was just a way to drop the subject."

"So did you even mean it?" You almost snapped, frowning slightly at his excuse of an explanation, leaning forward. "Or was it just a way to shut me up?"

"Don't be stupid, Stu, 'course I bloody meant it." He insisted, glaring at you. "Wouldn't have done it if I didn't."

You were silent for a second, just looking at him, trying to find anything that might have suggested otherwise in his eyes, but you couldn't. And that wasn’t looking at the situation with rose tinted glasses, or anything like that. He didn’t lie to you, at least not in these sorts of circumstances.

His honesty prevailed once again. 

He looked away from you quickly then, not wanting to expose anymore of himself, despite his heart being firmly on his sleeve at this point in the evening.

You didn't mind it.

“What's with you and her then, eh?” He asked, abruptly changing the subject, but still not looking at you. “Our Paula. The band's patented lovebirds.” He leant forward against the statue, resting his arms on his raises knees, letting out a bark like laugh. “Ha! Lovebirds my arse.” Chuckling to himself. “Ya know, I don't think I could have found two people who are less alike if I tried."

"Nah, it wasn't always like that, though.” But you laughed a little, in spite of yourself, shaking your head. “Me 'n' Paula used to be well close actually. Proper best friends and everything”

He looked up at you, somewhat intrigued, taking a huff from his cigarette and compelling you to continue.

"Yeah, we've been friends for ages actually.” You continued with a soft smile. “Actually it was the first day of high school and we got partnered in Maths. I was shitting myself about it, and she pulled my hair before she even knew my name. Told me she just wanted to see my reaction."

“Yeah, that sounds like Paula.” He let out a thoughtful chuckle, breathing out a cloud of smoke. "So how'd you end up with her then? Asked her out to prom? Got in detention and screwed behind a bookshelf? Or something less inspired by John Hughes perhaps."

You smiled sheepishly but shrugged your shoulders, looking down at your feet. You’d probably need to replace those shoes when you got home, they were looking scruffy, though they matched the shoegaze My-Bloody-Valentine aesthetic you were going for. Despite the rest of the bands outrage about it.

“I guess, it just sort of happened?” You started, looking at him again. “I mean, it was sort of inevitable, in a way. We were best friends all through school but it was...it never really clicked with us, I s’pose. Didn’t even think it was a possibility.” 

Looking away, a tight look on your face, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“When high school finished, we went to different colleges. My mum never really liked her, or any of my friends that much, so she wanted me to go to this...special school, sort of.” Scratching at an imaginary itch, just to distract yourself. “Partnered with our church, full of all these snobby rich kids and pompous, up-their-arse parents and all that. Used to take an hour just t’get there. I was away from all my friends as well, which was sort of shit. Wouldn’t even let me smoke during my breaks.”

Murdoc nodded sympathetically at your last statement. 

“‘N’ Mum wanted me to go to uni, like all parents do, but I didn’t get good enough grades at the college, see, cus all the teachers hated my guts and I used to skip lessons all the time.” You were fiddling with your fingers a little now, tapping at the bronze you were perched on, feeling slightly antsy just recounting the story. 

“She has a full on breakdown at me, screamed at me to get out of her house and stuff, goes off crying to my dad about how shit of a son I am, so I left the house and went to a pub.” 

You paused to take a drag from your cigarette. He nodded approvingly.

“And. She was there. Like she was waiting for me or something.” Smiling to yourself. Turned out, Paula’s barkeeping there, cus she dropped out of college a year before that, see. Gave me a free drink and we caught up. I bought her one, she bought me one. Danced a bit, got drunk as hell.”Grinning like an idiot. “Went on a walk when her shift was over, talked about everything that happened. And, er.” The grin then became somewhat sheepish but still full of self-pride. “We fucked by the swings in the park we used to go to.”

The frankness of your last statement must have caught him off guard, since he tried to hold in a laugh at, but couldn’t help letting it out in a burst. You didn’t mind too much because it was honestly funny as fuck. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Stuart, that’s one way to get the girl.” He laughed a little more, shaking his head. “Mate, fuck tradition, that’s some modern day romance right there.”

You smiled a little, nodding along with him as you thought back on the memory. 

“So, you been together what? A year then?” He asked, resting his face against his knee, when he’d gotten all the laughter out of his system. 

“About that. Getting close to two years, I think.”

“Ya think it’s forever?”

You shrugged gently, suddenly quiet and not wanting to make eye contact. 

“I dunno. I’d like it to be.” Stroking over the bronze as if you were stroking a real cat. “Seems like my only option at this point.”

“See, I don’t get that, cus I know that she’s no good.” Murdoc frowned a little, his eyes drifting up to watch the smoke above his head. “She’s a proper tart, Stuart, and I’m not just saying that cus she’s a bitch to me. Yet here you are talking about her like the sun shines out of her arse. She can’t be that good t’you, mate.”

You frowned then, and flicked away some ash, not wanting to carry on the conversation. You didn’t want to say anything, almost because you didn’t want to admit that he was right. 

You obviously knew that she was no good, you knew she was cheating on you, but it wasn’t like she made it a secret, like she had any shame about it. 

You had walked into her flat and heard it, for fuck’s sake. 

But maybe it was your fault, because you just ate toast and watched Graham Norton on the telly like it was an everyday occurrence. Like it was nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you.

You just kind of just wanted to carry on like everything was normal. Because it’s not like anything had changed between the two of you. 

She’d always been distant, right from the start. 

You just thought that that’s how she was. 

Even though it did sort of bother you sometimes.

She didn’t like holding your hand in public, she barely tolerated it when you kissed her. You’d stopped having sex that often, and when you tried to initiate it, she shrugged it off, got annoyed at you, or even kicked you out of the flat all together. And you accepted that, because of course you did, there was no way you were going to complain about something like that. She referred to you as her boyfriend, almost begrudgingly, but that didn’t stop the looks she got from other guys. 

You weren’t a threat to them, it seemed. 

You’d been in the pub when she was barkeeping and she really did flirt with people non-stop. And you wanted to say it upset you when she did it, especially when you were right there or when your mates could see and hold it against you, but you figured that’s how she got tipped. You even scolded yourself for wanting to get in the way of her making money for herself, because you were acting like a chauvinist.

You just weren’t traditional, you told yourself, you weren’t old fashioned like Mum and Dad were, so of course the relationship was going to be different. You were young and cool and non-monogamous (whatever that meant) and all those other things kids liked to call themselves these days. 

You could put up with all of that because. 

Well. 

She was still your’s, wasn’t she?

You shook your head, still frowning, wanting to get rid of any of those thoughts. You didn’t want to think about her at all, not now, not when everything was feeling okay for a while. 

Whatever.

Murdoc clearly understood that you were done talking about it, so he shut up himself, continuing to stare into the sky, smoking your cigarettes. 

But when you looked at him, a pang of guilt hit your chest and made you grimace (and thank God it was dark enough that he wouldn't have seen it.)

You had thought about Murdoc, almost exactly the same way you'd had thoughts about Paula.

Your eyes lingered on him during practice a bit too long for it to just be friendly, you'd thought about what he might have been like to go out with, or date. You'd imagined kissing him, touching him, and other things that you wanked about in the middle of the night when your girlfriend was lying next to you, probably thinking about the girl who served you coffee at the all night petrol station down the road from Murdoc's recording studio (at the very least, she had good taste.)

Despite everything Paula did with other people, you still felt bad about even thinking about someone else. And you didn’t really know why.

Even if the physical barrier hadn't (quite) been crossed yet, wasn't just thinking about it  as bad as what Paula did? Maybe it was even worse, because you had romance behind your motives, and Paula didn’t.

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t like to think about it. 

You regret not drinking more at Maggie’s while you had the chance to.

"Hey, er. Murdoc?"

After being silent for so long and being lost in your own head, speculating things that you could never answer on your own, you looked at him again, heart thumping hard when his eyebrow raised under his heavy fringe. A almost smile quirked on his lips as he waited for you to keep speaking, needing no reason to initiate any sort of further conversation.

"Was it...like, real? The kiss I mean.” You asked, almost dumbly, stumbling on your words. “Like, I know y’said you meant it but. I mean. Did ya really mean it? I-In that way."

You thought about Paula for maybe half a second, before you suppressed it. 

None of that mattered. Not now, at least.

Murdoc stayed quiet for a while, concentrating on smoking his nearly finished cigarette, and you almost assumed that he had chosen to ignore the question, until he alerted your attention with a small, almost inaudible chuckle. 

"And if I did?" He asked, his voice low. Making your chest clench again.

"W-" You could feel your own voice catch in your throat, as if you were nervous, though you felt the opposite. "-Well. I've, erm, never really...kissed a man.” His eyebrows went up in almost surprise, and you chuckled almost nervously as you crushed your burnt out cigarette on the monument. “Well, I mean, kissed like that before anyway. So I dunno if it was meant to feel like that or not."

Murdoc sat up then, leaning forward and bringing his face close to yours, the glowing ember of his cigarette barely illuminating that same satisfied look on his face, and you wondered if he could feel the sudden heat from your cheeks at such a close range. "Well...how did it feel then, bluebird?" He asked, breathing out smoke as he spoke, making your head spin. “Maybe I can shed some light on your confusion.”

"...Good." You said, feeling your hands shake just from hearing him use his affectionate little nickname for you. Maybe you were a bit nervous actually. "Not like, better than kissin' birds or nothing, but it was nice. Jus' not proper yet."

His head cocked to the side gently, and he looked at you in a curious way. "Proper? What's that mean?”

"Well, a proper kiss is meant to be, like, special, right?" You started, fiddling with your fingers, as you were prone to do in situations like this. "Like, it stops you from breathin' and you think your heart's gonna burst, but you don't care because all you wanna do is keep kissing that person. And it doesn't even matter who it is, yeah, cus all you care about is them. Like it could be the girl in school everyone calls a sket or...I dunno, your best friend, for all you care. All you think about is them and how much you never want that moment to end. Because it's so fuckin' perfect you're gonna think about it forever.” 

“That's proper, ennit?"

He gave you a thoughtful look as you rambled on, but the second you were done speaking, he kissed you again, this one probably just to shut you up, unlike the last one. 

But it was a peck, gentle and sweet with no real ill-meaning behind it. He grinned at your slightly bewildered look, and he pressed an affectionate palm to your cheek, fingers slightly curled.

“Ya know what, ‘Dents, it’s a good thing you’re so fuckin’ pretty, cus half the time, I don’t understand a single thing you say.” He said with a grin, kissing your nose affectionately.

And just to shut him up, you caught his lips with your own in a hard kiss of your own.

Taking some kind of initiative for once.

This kiss was much more different than the last one you had shared together, back at Maggie’s. It was slower, somewhat more thought out, and yet it felt like something more playful and sensual between lovers, which maybe the two of you were now. 

You could feel yourself shiver just considered that as a fact, but it might have been the sudden chill in the air.

As you kissed him harder, his hands were quickly pushed in your hair, pulling and tugging now. Encouraging you. His cigarette having been stubbed out on the bronze as soon as the kiss got more heated, he pulled you in closer towards him, tangling himself in your embrace. 

You thought it couldn’t have felt any better.

It was the same though, more or less.

It tasted the same, almost felt the same, but yet so much better. 

Maybe it was the atmosphere, the environment. The sudden feeling of pseudo-privacy, the fact you weren’t thinking about anything else other than him. The fact you were so enveloped in him that it almost hurt.

You groaned against his lips, as one of his hands clenched tightly in your hair, the other travelling down to grope your arse hard, efficiently pulling you into his lap. Your hands were around his neck, clinging onto him closer, kissing as if your life depended on it (and it almost felt like it actually did). It felt hot and heavy and so, so fucking good, both of you full of a desperate want for each other that was finally being fulfilled after months of wanting it. 

You still thought about that kiss.

Though you had kissed like this before.

Numerous times in high school, outside of classrooms, minutes before your lunch break was over, in playgrounds and behind trees when you were meant to be with friends. All with girls who hiked their school skirts too high, wore their ties wrong, wore push up bras when they weren’t allowed to. They smiled at you, and all their friends egged them on, and your mates were telling you to go, and you didn’t need much more convincing before they were on top of you, absolutely not abiding by your school’s public displays of affection rules.

But this felt so much more different.

Not better, not exactly.

Just right.

The closest you had gotten to any version of right in a long time. 

It felt. Well. Proper as you had put it.

You kissed like that for a while, longer than most kisses tended to last. His tongue against yours, his unnaturally sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip, ready to bite and you were sure that he was tempted to.

You only stopped when one of his hands went too low, grazing your inner thigh, knuckles pressed against the lump in your jeans. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, feeling almost prudish for it, pressing your forehead against his as he kept going, despite your slight change in body language

"M-Muds…come on, not here..." You said softly, your voice low, despite it being almost one in the morning with the Square being completely empty.

"No-one here, mate." He said gently, pressing light kisses down your neck. "Jus' you and me. No-one’s gonna catch us, yeah?”

You said nothing, but trembled and shook against him because God, did it feel good. And God, was he doing a good job on convincing you to indulge in a bit of public sex (despite that never being a kink of yours in the first place.) He certainly knew what he was doing, obviously because he was using all of those years of experience that he so proudly boasted about to you to his full advantage. 

It was something you would probably have to examine in yourself later on, perhaps with an internet search or a chat with your councillor, but that slight age difference (if twelve years was ‘slight’) was suddenly making your head swim with want and longing and you melted against his kisses. 

Feeling almost like he would take care of you, in a weird, twisted sort of way, show you everything you had missed out on due to the compulsive hetrosexuality that you’d had to put up with for the last twenty years.

Maybe you understood why Mum was so weary about you being around gay people now. 

You were impressionable, to say the least.

The hand in your hair started to travel down your back, and pushed up the back of your t-shirt, stroking slow circles on your skin, tracing the barely protruding bones of your spine. Affectionate and warming, to calm you down. 

You let out a long, pleased sigh at the soft touch and he caught your lips in a kiss again, practically pushing his tongue down your throat, dragging his sharp nails down your back, leaving harsh red lines. 

You were so far gone that the pain felt like blissful pleasure though and you moaned against his lips. You felt his smirk against the kiss and it almost irritated you how smug he was about getting you off. Though you didn’t blame him. You’d probably feel this smug too. 

But you shifted away from him slightly when he started to rub at you through the crotch of your jeans with his knuckles, pressing down a little as a form of further stimulation. Making you gasp and twist away from him even more, though you’re still hanging onto him.

“C-Can we go somewhere else?” You stuttered out as he licked down your neck, sucking dark love bites where he could, marking you as his where everyone (including your girlfriend) would see. You loved how that felt, that possession. “Not back to the hostel or nothin’ but...I-I dunno…”

“I know a place we could go.” He mumbled against your skin, kissing a particularly harsh bruise and lapping over it with a twisted sort of affection that you would only associate with him after this was over. “Know a guy in Camden that’ll let us borrow a room for a few hours. Get back to the hostel before the others know we were even gone.”

You didn’t know who this “guy in Camden” might have been, and you didn’t think to ask him about it before you were gasping at his touches again. The way he groped you, the way he kept you pinned in his lap, the way he ravaged your skin with bruises and bites when he couldn’t ravage your lips with harsh kisses. 

Like he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, didn’t want to waste any more time than you had already, tiptoeing around this for the past six months.

So you nodded frantically, digging your nails into his shoulders as he kissed you again, nipping at your lips before he pulled away from you, wiping his chin of any slobber that you might have left on him.

Took your hand and helped you down from the monument, squeezed it as he pulled you across the square and to the slightly crowded road, where taxis waited in lieu of lovers, just like you, frantic to get somewhere to carry on the rest of the night. 

Didn’t stop holding your hand the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what happened in the year since i wrote this. i did a writing challenge, i finished my second year of uni, rented my first house, went to my first pride parade. a lot's happened! explains why i haven't updated this, eh?
> 
> ALSO HAPPY D-DAY!! murdoc and 2D have officially known each other for 20 years today, so i thought this fic would be the best thing to celebrate!! hopefully the next update won't take a year to publish but no promises lol
> 
> i'm not explaining shit this time, i'm a tired english boy let me drink my tea in peace
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


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